


Watercolours

by AlwaysEverlark



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6439114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysEverlark/pseuds/AlwaysEverlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 6: Katniss studying Peeta from afar, searching for a way to clear her debt for the bread, She learns of his art interest, and the capitol holds a contest with the prize being a fully funded art education (or a one-time experience) that is open to all the districts, but he could never afford the materials he needs to enter. How does she make this happen? What happens to Peeta? And do they have a future together after it? [submitted by @titaniasfics / requested by Sue 567]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  


 

“What are you looking at?” Prim asks with a smile drawn in her eyes.  
“Nothing,” I say averting my eyes from the subject of my interest and answering a little bit too gruffly.  
  
“Well, that nothing is a handsome blond.”  
  
“Prim!” I exclaim looking at her with genuine surprise.  
  
“What? I’m 15 now, and not that naive anymore. He is handsome, not as handsome as his middle brother but…” she trails off.  
  
If I didn’t know any better I’d think she’s trying to tease me to get a reaction from me. But my interest in Peeta Mellark has nothing to do with his good looks, which are undeniable, but with his good heart.  
  
“Anyway,” I say striking back, “I thought your type was tall with dark hair, like Rory Hawthorne?” now, it’s her turn to blush to the roots of her hair and open and close her mouth as a fish searching for air. I feel a little ashamed at that moment but not too much since I got what I wanted, divert the topic from the boy with the bread.  
  
“Let’s go Little Duck, mom is waiting at home.”  
  
We start walking home, but I can’t clear my mind from what I’ve just seen. Peeta seemed upset, even angry, and that is not his usual demeanor. He is nice and open and he smiles most of the time, except when he is focused in his sketches or in wrestling trainings or tournaments. No, something is definitely not fine with him at all, and I wonder if it had to do with the ball of paper he threw into the bin. Maybe I could…  
  
I’m so immersed in my thoughts, that I don’t realize the Hawthorne siblings (well, except for Gale who’s working in the mines today, like every single day but Sundays) are ahead of us till I hear the youngest one asking me if I’m ok.  
  
“Yes, why Posy?” I ask waving to Vick and Rory.  
  
“Because you’re scowling,” she says.  
  
Well, that is pretty normal in me, although maybe it is not that normal around Prim and them. I try to smile for her and she smiles back.  
  
“Don’t worry Posy, she’s a little distracted today,” my sister says, mock in her voice.  
  
“Prim, why don’t you walk home with the Hawthornes? I’m sure you’ll appreciate Rory’s company,” I say as genuinely as I’m capable to pretend. She blushes again and nods as an answer while giving me an angry look, but this time I’m not ashamed at all.  
  
I retrace my steps till the little square where I saw Peeta and I head to the bin, luckily there’s few people in here and I can recover the paper from the bin.  
  
I head to the meadow to look at it without any other eyes prying around me, it is nearly the end of spring and the meadow it’s still full of dandelions. Yes, this is a good place to find out Peeta’s problem, maybe this time I can repay him for saving my life and my family’s life so many years ago, I think, determined to find a silver lining.  
  
When I open the paper, all I see is the Capitol’s Talent Contest. Every year, before the yearly Hunger Games, the Capitol launches a talent contest across the districts for 18-year-old boys and girls who are safe from the reaping for the first time. It is like their award for survivors. They choose one person from every district for each category: music, painting, poetry, acting, sculpture, writing… I’ve never given much importance to this: first, because my only focus has been to survive another year, and two because not in a million years could I leave my sister alone for that long.  
  
The winners get a full education on their chosen career and, from that moment on, they are Capitolites. They can get back to their district once they finish their studies, but no one from district 12 has ever returned here. I guess it makes sense, when you can keep your education there and live an easy life. Because God knows life isn’t easy in district 12, not even for Merchant families.  
  
To be honest, I can’t see how I can help him here. It is not like I could go to his front door and ask him what is wrong or if I can support him. It’s true that I go to his parent’s bakery every Sunday to trade some squirrels, but his father is the one trading with me and in all these 8 years since the bread incident I’ve never managed to speak a single word with Peeta, although sometimes our looks have crossed.  
  
Maybe he can’t participate because his mother doesn’t let him, but he is already 18, he doesn’t need his parents’ authorization anymore…  
  
I stand up from the grass feeling a little bit down, as this is not my opportunity to repay him. I’ll have to wait. I have already waited 8 years, this is not a big deal, I say to myself, nevertheless I feel like I missed a good chance.  
  
The rest of the week goes by the same as always, and I don’t think about Peeta or his problem anymore. I have enough problems trying to make a living for my family. However, Sunday brings a total different story.  
  
After hunting with Gale in our woods, we go trading in the Merchant quarter. First we visit Madge as we got a bucket of berries for his father, the Major. They’re not strawberries, his favourite, but he likes these as well. Then we go the bakery but, before arriving there , we hear someone yelling.  
  
“Mrs. Mellark is not in a good mood today,” says Gale, “maybe we should go and trade squirrels someplace else.”  
  
He is right, I think, as we turn around and start walking down the street and turn around the corner that brings us to the main street, but what if…  
  
I snatch the squirrels’ bag from his hand and run in the opposite direction from where he is standing astonished.  
  
“Wait for me here,” I call out, “it is better if only one of us goes there, I need bread this week,” I say as all explanation.  
  
When I’m closer to the bakery I slow down my pace, I can start catching some words of the conversation: “wasting money”, “not in a million years”, “disrespectful son”, “I won’t allow it.”  
  
I’m by the door, at their small veranda, and I’m about to knock when it opens brusquely, nearly hitting me, but I do a good job avoiding it. What I can’t avoid is something, or someone, crashing on me and almost knocking me down.  
  
It’s Peeta on his way out with a recent bruise on his cheek. When he recovers from the shock he looks surprised of finding someone there, but before he can open his mouth to say anything we hear his mother throwing something out of the kitchen. Peeta flies from the veranda without apologizing before she gets out. I should do the same but his mother starts talking with Peeta’s father at that moment and I eavesdrop, moving behind the door so as to not be found out.  
  
“It’s his money Moira, and he’s 18 now,” his father says slowly, like he needs to think about the right choice of words.  
  
“Are you serious Alfred? I won’t let my son waste the family money in paintings. He’s not an artist, he is barely a baker,” she spits venom as she speaks.  
  
“That is not fair. Peeta is the one who frosts and decorates the cakes…”  
  
“Frosting is not art!” she yells again. “We need him here and Bannock and Rye, or this shitty bakery won’t survive and our family will be ruined. Do you want that? Do you want that?”  
Silence settles around the bakery, after a moment, Peeta’s father breaks it “No,” it is all he says.  
I return to Gale thinking about everything that just happened.  
  
“Where is the bread,” he asks gesturing with one of his hands.  
  
“You were right, It wasn’t a good time,” I reply throwing the game bag at him.  
  
“Then, why are you smiling?” he questions narrowing his eyes in suspicion.  
  
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Let’s go,” I say… but I do because now I know how to help Peeta look for the future he wants.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I get home as fast as I can because there is no time to waste. I take my father’s plant book and lock myself in our room (Prim’s and mine). After two hours of research, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Good news is I have all the information to make a painting box for Peeta… Bad news is that it is going to take a lot of time, and the contest submission is only two weeks away. I need help, desperately, but who from? Suddenly, the answer comes into the room

“What are you doing here the whole afternoon?” she says rolling her eyes. “I swear you don't seem yourself this last week”

“I need help,” I blurt out before I can think twice.

Prim closes the door slowly, a grave expression all over her teenage face and sits by me on our bed.

”What's wrong, Katniss?”

“I owe someone my life. All our lives: mum’s, yours and mine…” 

And I explain everything to her: the hunger, the hopelessness, the fear, the rain, the bread.. And Peeta. I tell her about Peeta’s compassion and how he got a beating for me. Then I talk to her about the current situation and my idea to help him. 

“So…” I finish my story. 

“I wish you would ask for help more often, Katniss. You don't have to be the only one who is strong in this family anymore. I know you want to protect me, but so do I… And of course I’ll help you. When do we start with your plan?”

I hug my little sister, tears in my eyes. Realizing, maybe for the first time, that she is right, she's not a child anymore. She is an extraordinary woman. Maybe 15 years old is not too much in the Capitol but, in the Seam, it is a lifetime.

“The contest submission deadline is two weeks away, so we only have one week to prepare everything. I'll be collecting the flowers and bringing them to you. You will need to dry them. Hopefully, the weather will keep dry but we can also use the fireplace to speed up the process. 

“Then we will need to chop the flowers and mash them to turn them into a fine powder. Finally, we could put them in medicine bottles. We will need some alcohol and linseed oil too, so he can mix it with the pigment and get the paint. The alcohol is easy, I’ll trade with Ripper but what about linseed oil? How does mum get it?” 

Prim looks at me with concern for the first time since I've started explaining my plan. 

“Prim?” I ask hesitantly foreseeing some clouds in our bright idea.

“Well, you could get it in the Hob, but it is ten times more expensive than in the pharmacy, so we usually buy it there.”

“In the pharmacy? How come?” Because there is no way my mom or any of us would cross the pharmacy door. They kicked my mother out when she married my father, and no words have been spoken between the two families since them.

Merchant and Seam together, nearly a crime for District 12 standards...and Prim and I are the sinful reminder of our parent’s love.

“Well, she asks Haymitch to do it,” says my sister lowering her eyes.

“Hatmitch, the official drunk of 12, Haymitch?” And the only living victor from District 12, I must add.

“Yes, mum mixes some sleeping pills for him.”

“Great! We are drug dealers now!” I exclaim in disbelief and with an accusing tone in my voice.

“It's not like that, Katniss! Mum is a responsible healer, she would never do anything that could hurt a patient.”

“Then why does Haymitch buy them from us and not from the pharmacy?”

“Because everything he gets in the pharmacy gets to be known in The Capitol.”

“Prim, how do you know that? Are you eavesdropping on mum’s conversations?” 

“I told you. I told you this the other day, I'm 15, but neither mum nor you seem to realize it. So she keeps doing her business while I’m helping back in the kitchen. So yes I can learn about her business, and no, I don't eavesdrop, there is no need for that.”

I look at Prim and I don't know what to say. She is really frustrated with us and our behavior towards her. I’m speechless, so I hug her and caress her hair.

“I won't treat you as a child anymore.” 

My sister laughs and raises her eyebrows unconvinced.

“Fine, I'll try not to treat you as a child anymore,” I promise.

“Fair enough,” she says.

Next day, at dawn, I wander into the meadow and woods to gather the flowers: dandelions, butterwort and Carolina Jessamines for the yellow, Fire Pinks and Red Stars for red, forget-me-not, Dayflowers and Blue Cardinals for blue, Gray’s Lilies for orange, Deptfords and Wild Roses for pink, Chicories and Late purple aster for violet and Daisies or Rue Anemons for white…

I collect the flowers by colors. Every time I have my game bag full I come back home so Prim can start with the drying process but soon we realize that drying them takes more time than expected.

“We should dry them with mum’s oven for medical plants,” says Prim as we’re discussing how to dry them faster to meet our deadline.

“That could work,” I confirm with an edge of doubt in my voice.

“But…” Prim asks sensing my hesitation.

“Mum, she might ask questions.”

“It’s fine. I can tell her it's for a school project. I’m a good liar, or at least better liar than you are,” she says winking her eye and turning around to look for the small oven while I think. I’m not sure I like everything I’m learning about my sister.

Two days later, I walk to Victor’s Village. Prim wanted to come with me, but I said no, she can be a better liar but I’m better at trading, and with Haymitch Abernathy you can't play naive. He might be a drunk but he is a Victor, he won his Games and you don't survive The Hunger Games by accident.

I knock on the door once, twice...even five times, but I get no response. I'm sure he's at home, it's too early for him to go out. Usually, if we see him at the Hob or Merchant Quarter it's in the afternoon past 3. He must be sleeping, passed out in an ethylic comma.

I knock harder this time, and I’m not ashamed to say that I even kick the door when I hear a “whoa,whoa. Stop that damn noise now or I’ll rip your head off!” in a not very gentle tone. A messy person opens the door. I can smell alcohol even before he’s finished opening it.

“You better have a very good reason to wake me up at these hours. What do you want, sweetheart?” he snaps.

“You usually trade with my mother, Lily Everdeen, the healer,“ I say giving him all the details.

“I know who your mother is, and who you are too,” he answers and crosses his arms in front of him, “ but you haven't answered my question yet. What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I need you to get me some linseed oil. I could get you some sleeping pills in exchange,” I answer unconvinced that this will work according with his expression.

“I can get that already from Lily,” he says, pushing the topic.

“And some extra alcohol,” I add, but he still doesn't look satisfied. 

I’m struggling, trying to think what he might want when he says “I’m not interested.” 

Before he can close the door on my face, I stop it with my feet.

“Listen, old drunk, I need that oil. Just tell me what you want for your help, alright?” 

This comment picks up his attention.

“Wow, you are a fighter, aren't you?” he exclaims. “Fine, I’ll help you, but besides the medicine and the alcohol I want to know why. I have a friend who says the best payment are secrets and I can sense there is a secret here.” 

I open my mouth to go with the official story when he interrupts me. 

“No lies, sweetheart, or our agreement won't be valid anymore.”

He is tough, I think, validating my initial thought of no accidental winners in the Games. I debate whether or not to tell him the truth, but I decide against my initial plan and go with the truth. Well, a partial truth, since he doesn't need to know all the details.

“I need to help a person. He helped me when I was a child and now he needs my help.”

Hopefully this will be enough. But it isn't, Haymitch gestures to keep going with the story. 

“He paints,” I explain, “but he doesn't have money to buy paints so I’m making some from wild flowers.”

“Is that all?” he asks, disappointed, and I nod with my head. “I don't know if it is worth my time.”

“A deal is a deal!” I yell at him because I’m tired if this game.

“Ok, you are right. Bring me everything as soon as you can and I’ll get you that oil.”

I smile happily and run to the woods. If I want to get some alcohol from Ripper, I’ll need some some rabbit or turkey. 

When I arrive home later, it's nearly evening. It took me far more time than I thought to hunt a couple of rabbits, but it took me even more time to wake Haymitch up. I even had to go into his house and throw some water on his face, which didn't make him very happy. I thought he was going to call off the deal, but then he asked me my age. When I told him I was 18, his only answer was, “You would have made a fine victor for District 12”. He has promised to have the oil seed in a couple of days, I hope he doesn’t forget our deal.

We continue with our project, working tirelessly. Chopping the dry flowers into a small dust takes more time than expected. The grain needs to be very fine if we want to mixed it with the oil seed and get an homogeneous paste, without lumps. Getting the right mix isn't an easy task.

“Well, we have another problem,” says Prim when showing me her testing of the white flowers.

“Oh! That's yellowish, not white!” I scream looking at the creamy mix. “This is a disaster! All the white wildflowers will have the same problem. They are all fleshy.”

“Yes, they have too much water on their petals and, even with the oven, they don’t dry fast enough. Fortunately, it is not that important with the other colors. White is overrated anyway, we’ll go without bright white,” says a determined Prim who resumes her work.

But I’m not convinced, I want the gift to be perfect. It has to be perfect. Him, saving us from starving, is something that, I now realize, I won’t ever be able to repay. If we had been chosen for The Hunger Games, and I could have saved his life, then yes. But we are not eligible anymore, so that scenario doesn’t exist. This is why this paint box must be perfect.

“No, Prim,” I say stopping her work with my hand, “we need to think of a solution.”

“There is one,” she says, “but, you are going to hate it.”  
My sister’s statement brings a clear image to my mind.

“White roses,” we say in unison.

White roses, in fact, will be perfect for this. But the image which came to my mind before wasn’t just only the image of a delicate and snowy white rose. The image, which I can still visualize, is the coffin of my father covered with white roses, courtesy of the President of Panem. It is a symbol of the power of the Capitol. The president himself wears one pinned to his suits, and all the official Mayor’s houses own a garden full of white roses, even in winter. Those roses have to be genetically modified, for sure, and the population wonders why other crops more useful for people, like wheat or fruit trees, are not.

White roses are a representation of our status in society. 

Am I really sure that I want to include them in Peeta’s box? A symbol of the Capitol and its repression? A reminder of unfairness, when the meaning of this gift is just the opposite?

I shake my head to erase all these ideas. This is not like me. This is more like Gale rambling about politics. I’m my father’s daughter, I’m pragmatic, and white roses might have a good use for once.

“Alright,” I say to Prim. “I’ll go to the woods to harvest some berries and trade them with Madge”

This time, the trade itself is easier. I consider Madge my only friend, besides the Hawthornes. She’s quiet and discreet and she doesn’t ask why I need white roses, which I appreciate because I don’t know what explanation I could offer, She seems genuinely surprised by my request, though. I can see it n her face.

My next stop is Victor’s Village. When I knock on Haymitch’s door, he opens it in a second.

“Do you want to come in?” he offers, but I can notice the stench from outside, so I decline politely. “Ok, so here it is the bottle with the oil, but before I give it to you I want to ask you a question.”

“This wasn’t part of the agreement,” I said abruptly.

“Relax, sweetheart, friends ask questions.”

“You are not my friend. We are business partners.”

“But we should be friends. We live in hard times,” he says in a mysterious way I can’t decipher at that moment.  
“What are the questions?” I say giving up because, somehow, I trust him.

“You say that person was a boy, is he your boyfriend?”

“No, I barely know him.”

“Wow, you are getting into a lot of trouble to help someone you barely know.”

“He saved my life. He gave me hope when I thought everything was lost,” I blurt out.

“Ok,” he says serious “last question, I promise. What’s his name?”

“Why does it matter?” I ask because I’m willing to keep that part only for myself.

“I told you the other day. Information is important, and I’d like to know good people in this district.”

“The youngest baker’s son. Peeta.”

“That makes sense, he is a kind boy. Ok, here you have your seed oil. I’ll see you soon, Katniss”

We manage to finalize everything on Saturday afternoon and we are both happy with the result. Prim suggested to buy a nice wooden box for it and to wrap it in a baby blue ribbon. I give up on the first one but not on the second.

“It’s done!” I say smiling widely. “I’ll bring it tonight. Peeta works on Sunday’s, so hopefully he will find it.”

“It’s not done, Katniss. You have to write a note.”

“A note?” I ask skeptically, “and what do you think I can write down on that note, Prim?”

“Thanks for the bread?” she suggests.

“No, I don’t want him to know it’s from me.”

“Then how do you want him to know you are repaying him?”

“It’s not for him, it’s for me. I’ll know I’ve done something good for him. Besides, I’m sure he won’t remember that incident, why should he?”

“Ok, don’t thank him for the bread, but write down a note anyways.”

I spend the rest of the day, wracking my brains trying to find something worthy to say. But I’m not good with words so, at the end, I just write a simple: “For Peeta. Good luck!”

Weeks go by, and I don’t have any idea if he received the gift or if he has painted anything in time to send it to the Capitol. I don’t see any reaction from him either when we trade with his father. Sometimes he doesn't lift his eyes from the dough he is kneading, or from the frosting; sometimes, though, he looks at me for a second before one of us looks away.

That is, till the Capitol announcement comes on a Friday afternoon two weeks later. All the 18-year-old boys and girls are gathered in the main square. It’s like a reaping, but in a more festive atmosphere. Although the protagonists are the same: Effie Trinket, the escort from the Capitol who looks after District 12 is on the stage, along with Haymitch and the Mayor.

“Welcome! Welcome, welcome. Happy Talent Contest day, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, before I announce the winner for District 12 , we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol.”

The video starts on the big screen built for the occasion, it is about how winners from last year’s contest live in the Capitol; how they attend classes, play piano in front of a crowd, dance on a stage or exhibit their canvases. I peak a look at Peeta and can’t see his eyes moving from the screen, absorbing every image and word. His attitude for the first time shows me that he has submitted his work, and I feel pain in my chest.

The video finishes and Effie takes the center of the stage again to speak her next words. “This year’s winner for District 12 is…”she makes a dramatic pause where you can’t hear even a fly, “Peeta Mellark, for his remarkable painting!”

The square erupts in applause and a crowd composed of numerous friends and family surrounds him. Prim comes by my side cheering also. “He won, Katniss, he won!”

“Yes, he won, little duck,” I say but the only thing that comes to my mind is, “No, not him.”

Sunday arrives sunny and radiant, the opposite to my mood.

I should be happy we got it. Peeta won and he’ll start a new life today, a life far away from this dusty district, far away from his mother. He has a bright future in front of him… But I have to force a smile because It doesn't come genuine to my mouth. I haven't slept very well the last two nights, they’ve been full of nightmares. In all of them, I was looking for something, or someone, in the forest, but I couldn't find the object or the person that seemed to go far from me at every step. It was an anxious and depressing feeling.

I guess I'm tired and stressed, reaping is coming and that doesn't help either. But I’m going to be happy for Peeta. Today is the day he is catching the train to the Capitol, all the city will be there but me. I don't like goodbyes. Besides, I’ve finished my job. I have no business pending at the train station or with the boy with the bread anymore.

I'm about to pass under the fence when I hear someone calling my name and I'm startled because I recognize the voice. The boy with the bread.

“Hi, sorry, I didn't want to scare you,” he apologizes.

“You didn't,” I respond a little too fast and a little too harshly, but when I continue I use a softer tone, which makes him smile. “I’m just surprised. I thought you were leaving today.”

“I didn't want to leave without saying thank you, Katniss.”  
“Thank you for what?” I say playing fool, but I can see on his face my trick is not going to work. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I’ve been trying to thank you these last weeks for the paints but…”

I interrupt him because I realize I haven't asked the right question. “How did you know it was me?”

“I recognized your handwriting on the note,” he says and I think I can see a light blush coloring his cheeks.

“But how did…” I stop at that point because he starts laughing. 

“I never thought Katniss Everdeen would be that curious,” he says amused but, suddenly, he gets serious again. “I recognize your handwriting because I remember everything about you: I remember how you dressed the first day of school, in a red dress and two braids, or how you raised your hand and sang “The Valley Song” and all the birds went silent. I remember how sad and thin you were after your dad’s death, and how you looked at me under the apple tree before I threw you the bead.”

“You remember that?” I ask, surprised that he remembers the incident.

“I told you, I’ve been paying attention,” he says sheepishly. “Well, I wanted also to apologize for landing on top of you the other day, I mean that day at the bakery. I was kind of in a rush. I’d should have apologized before, but you were always with Gale and, to be honest, if someone had pushed my girlfriend as I pushed you, I’d be pretty pissed off. So I kept my distance just in case… He is really tall,” he finishes the sentence laughing shyly again and rubbing the back of his head with one hand.

Then I register what he’s said, “Boyfriend, which boyfriend?”

“I was talking about Gale.”

“Gale is not my boyfriend!” I rush to clarify, “we are not together, or dating, for that matter. He is my best friend, that's all.”

“Oh, I thought..”

“No, you were mistaken,” and I look into his eyes as I shake my head to emphasize my words.

We stand face to face after that, the two of us quiet and looking into each other's eyes. I notice then, how long his eyelashes are. How is it possible that they don't tangle when he blinks? I ask myself. I’m so fascinated with his eyes that when he speaks again I jump a little.

“I have to go,” Peeta says breaking the spell. “My train leaves in less than two hours and I still need to go home and finish packing.”

“Yes, of course,” I answer trying not to show something that looks like disappointment.

He turns to go but hesitates for a moment and twists to face me again.“Can I…. Can I hug you one last time?” he asks unconvinced.

I'm about to say yes, but my voice doesn't respond to my brain’s orders. 

At that moment he continues with a joke, “well, it would be the first hug too. I’ve been silly...sorry.”

Suddenly, I recover my talking capacity and I hear myself saying “yes”.

It lasts only a moment, but warmth radiates from the spot where his arms surround my waist, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go, but he does, and with a “thanks again” he turns around and walks away.

“Peeta!” I call out to him, “What did you paint for the contest?”

Before he can answer, Gale appears behind the trees and approaches me with a grave and cold glance that moves from Peeta to me and back to Peeta.

“I painted something that matters to me,” he says and I can feel the warmth in his voice.

I stay there, looking as he walks towards the town when Gale says, “Let’s go now, Katniss. We’re wasting time.”

I don’t know if it is me, or if it’s Gale’s attitude, but our usually pleasant Sunday in the woods seems off-putting this time, till he brings up the subject, I guess both of us have been trying to avoid.

“You are very distracted today,” he says as a matter of fact since I’ve missed two shots.

“Sorry, I haven’t slept well.”

“Is that the only reason you are not like you today? I thought it was about you talking with the baker’s son. I didn’t even knew you knew each other.”

“C’mon Gale, he’s been my classmate since we were 5,” I say rolling my eyes. “We were just saying goodbye.”

“Is he saying goodbye to all his classmates? That’s a lot of goodbyes then…”

“I don’t know, Gale and I don’t care,” I shrug. “Shall we continue hunting, please?”

“Are you sure, you don’t prefer to go to the station and say goodbye to Mellark again?” he asks very angry and emphasizing the word “again”. 

“What’s gotten into you today?”

“Nothing. Just all this celebration and fuss about a Merchant winning a stupid talent contest. Who has time for art? I don’t, of course, nor you Katniss, because we are busy trying to survive and we don’t have the money or the time to spare in such frivolity.” 

His words sting more than he can imagine and I feel my cheeks and my whole body burning of anger, but he is oblivious to my mood and he continues with his old-fashioned-class speech. “He is privileged, he has everything he needs, just because he is a merchant: a full belly, clothes, and now a scholarship to an easy life!”

“Shut up, Gale, you don’t know what you are talking about! He hasn’t had an easy life either, his mother is a brat, you know all the Mellark brothers have been injured by her. And he didn’t have money to participate in the contest Gale, his mother didn’t allow him to buy paints with the money he has earned working at the bakery!”

He looks at me puzzled but recovers soon and asks, “How do you know all that?”

“Because I’ve been paying attention. Prim and I made the paints he used to win the contest. See you, Gale.”

When I arrive to the station it’s fully packed, and I become aware that I’m not going to reach him before he leaves. I try to make my way to the front of the station but I’m pulled out of it by one of the Peacekeepers. 

“There is no more space in here, Katniss. I’m sorry, I can’t let you in,” the agent says and I recognize it’s Darius.

Disappointed, I trace back my steps when I see Haymitch walking towards the station and I run towards him.

“So, that was what you needed the seed oil for?” he says as hello.

“Yes, he wanted to participate and I helped him,” I say proudly, asking myself why I’m revealing this information to everyone today.

“You haven’t helped him, sweetheart,” he says looking disheartened.

“What do you mean?” I say now for the first time concerned about him. Haymitch looks at the train and tells me, “I need to go. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”  
“No, wait Haymitch, please. Could you tell him something?”  
He nods. 

“Tell him, I’ve been paying attention too.”

He nods again and goes to meet Effie and Peeta. From the distance I can see how he leans into Peeta and whispers something in his ear. Peeta raises his head faster looking where Haymitch is motioning but he can’t see me among all the people. I try to wave but before he can see me, a peacekeeper leads all of them inside the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thanks to Javistg, you are amazing, and without you this story would be unreadable !!
> 
> Second, please leave your comments , it is important to fan fiction authors and to me. I'm struggling writing lately but seeing that people outside read it makes a difference.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you like it :-)


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